Cold Lieutenant
by C No Evil
Summary: Fealty, honour, and chivalry make a knight. What makes a man? {An imagining of various stages of Frederick's life prior to and during the main events of the game. Spoilers for Chapters 9 & 10.}
1. Chapter 1

Screams were stifled by thick, loud hacks and the air was rank with the smell of burning bodies. A young boy gripped his lance and pointed its tip towards the man under his foot who had tripped in a failed attempt to escape the slaughter behind him. The lance shook in the boy's hands as the child peered into the eyes of his victim. They were so full of fear; he didn't want to die.

"Hurry up, Frederick! No son of mine will spare one of these dogs quarter. Stick him and we can return to camp!" barked the tall, imposing general behind his shoulder. "The Plegians would see Grima awakened given the chance. Finish this now."

He could feel the heaving of the man's chest under his boot as his breaths became erratic with fear and he tearfully began to beg for his life. The boy's nostrils stung with the smell of the bodies of the townspeople burning behind him and he knew that insubordination would cost him dearly.

"Yes, father…" said the child as he tried to stay his shaking hands. His arms brought the blade closer to the man's neck and his vision was distorted by the tears forming in his eyes. "I… I'm s-sorry… I don't want to die either."

Closing his eyes, he plunged the point down and heard the guttural sound of steel piercing flesh as the breaths underneath his foot grew frantic and began to spasm before stopping entirely. His eyes were still clamped shut when he withdrew the spear and received a spurt of hot blood against his cheek.

"It is about time, boy. Your first kill marks your first step into manhood." the general said as he dismissively turned away to climb atop his steed. "Keep up. We're leaving now."

* * *

The third year of the war was drawing to a close and the land was soaked in the blood of Ylisseans and Plegians alike. The crusades sought to wipe Plegia off of the face of the planet in a desperate bid to prevent the return of the Fell Dragon, but the casualties numbered in the thousands on the Ylissean side because the crusaders were ill-suited to survive in Plegia's arid sands.

By his seventh year, Frederick had been on the Ylissean front with his father for almost ten months. His father was the Field Marshal of the Exalt's Holy Army and oversaw the Ylissean obliteration of Plegia's countryside and coastlines while the Exalt himself led the assault on the capitol. In order to prove his loyalty to his lord, Frederick's father brought him into the war to fight and kill in the name of the Exalt.

"My son tastes his first blood and weeps like a babe…" grumbled the general from atop his horse. "Bah, I should have prayed harder for a son. The gods have cursed me with a whimpering kitten... Keep up, boy!"

Behind him, Frederick marched on with his lance perched upon his shoulder. He never wanted any part of this. Was this knighthood? Nothing about what his father had ordered him to do seemed chivalrous or gallant at all. He stared vacantly ahead as he followed his father back to the barracks.

* * *

"So our little Freddy Bear's become a man?" exclaimed one soldier. "Good on you!"

"Atta boy! It's about time you made yourself useful!" shouted another.

These men who had hazed the boy for his youth earlier that morning, now lauded for finally making his first kill. They heaped praise and validation upon him, trying to encourage him to keep it up. To continue killing.

"You've finally earned your place among your brothers-in-arms, boy," said a large Cavalier as he patted Frederick's back, nearly knocking the boy off of his feet. "Just watch: you'll be a knight before you know it!"

Knighthood. The prospect inspired him before the war, but he was beginning to hate what it had become to him. Mead was passed around and the soldiers roared songs of riches and victory into the night sky. The day had been a complicated and terrifying experience for the young boy. Through the shooting pain in his temples, Frederick realised that childhood was over for him; he would have to continue to kill and grow stronger if he wanted to survive. This was the reality of the world. This was war.

* * *

Sitting at the campfire with a few of the soldiers who remained sober enough to stand watch on guard duty, Frederick stared into the flames and remembered his home. He missed his village in the hills. He missed the cool air that wisped through the trees of the forest that surrounded it. He missed his mother most of all. She would sing him to sleep when he was weary, hold him tight when he was afraid, and encourage him to be better than his best. She taught him how to ride and to start campfires of his own using what he could find in nature. As he stared into the flickering flames of the campfire, it was almost as if she were there in front of him, comforting him with her warmth. Remembering her last words to him, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine her voice.

'Find your own path in life and to walk it with all that you are. What lies ahead will be so very hard and you will see so many things that you will not understand, but never stop learning. Those lessons will keep you safe where I cannot. Live for something precious to you and never let go of it.'

His contemplation was broken by the clacking of hooves. Frederick noticed a page from the east bearing the colours of Ylisse's Royal Family arriving at camp before being guided to his father's tent. The boy tried to ignore the man, but found it rather difficult. His father was the recipient of many messages from the Exalt, but something seemed off; the messenger's face seemed frightened.

"I suppose it's none of my business," Frederick murmured with a sigh as his eyelids began to grow heavy. The soldiers around him were the ones on duty, so he was free to sleep. "Tomorrow is a new day… I'll find what I'm looking for then."

* * *

"The Exalt is dead!? How?" boomed Frederick's father as he knocked over a chair and picked the messenger up by his collar before tossing him to the ground. "Give me that scroll; you're a useless excuse for a courier."

"A-at once, sire," said the shaken man, extending the message to the general. Unravelling the parchment, the marshal read the report quietly before heaving a great sigh of exasperation, setting his chair back on its legs, and sitting down.

"She's to take the Exalt's crown on the morrow…" he groaned slumping down in his seat. Dismissing the messenger with a wave of his hand, the general called his lieutenants and officers to his side and weighed where the scales of the war would tip next. "That brat's been spouting nonsense about peace for years and now she has the power to actually do something about it. She doesn't realise the importance of this mission; she only sees what's in front of her. She'll try to bring the war to a swift end unless something is done about it."

His men tried to keep their composure, but what he was suggesting seemed mad. Eventually, a thin, bearded officer chirped in, "Sir… are you proposing treason-"

"Of course not, you lummox; as daft as the girl is, her bloodline is the best weapon we have against the Fell Dragon should we fail," the general interrupted. "We have allies in the nobility. With their help and the proper leverage, we may buy ourselves another decade to finish things up here. Send word to the heads of Ylisse's noble houses that we must be allowed to continue; the fate of the realm depends on it."

"At once, sire," said the officer with a stiff salute. "Do you believe that a decade will be enough?"

"Yes, but only just," he said as his temper subsided. "We shall wipe our enemies off of the face of the planet and future generations will thank us for doing so. The Exalt gave his life to see to it that the Grimleal would never succeed in their twisted designs. It's our duty to see this mission through and I vow that I shall die long before that dragon ever tastes the freedom it craves."


	2. Chapter 2

Before becoming the most powerful person in the Halidom of Ylisse, Emmeryn held the role of sister, mother, and heir to the throne. Her mother had died in childbirth, leaving her siblings and her utterly alone as their grief-stricken father continued his rampage halfway across the continent. Of her own accord, Emmeryn decided to fill in for her mother by helping the maids and nurses of the palace raise her younger brother and sister. Despite the realm's growing animosity towards the exalted bloodline, all who knew Emmeryn revered her for being extraordinarily kind and wise beyond her years.

When Emmeryn was crowned Exalt, a different kind of battle began between the noble families loyal to the crown and those who wished the war to continue. These campaigns raged on for nearly four years and absolutely no one expected the young queen to assert her authority by bringing these discussions and her father's war in Plegia to an immediate end once and for all. However, her kingdom lay in shambles, the scars of war cut deep, and the reputation of her family's bloodline was in the gutter. She no longer had time to tend to her siblings as she had when she was but a princess; her obligation was to her people now and she had to oversee the healing of the realm. As her siblings, Chrom and Lissa began to grow; Emmeryn could see that they needed companionship outside of the palace's nurses, maids, and squires. They needed someone who could be a guardian, custodian, and friend to them all in one. In her spare time, the Exalt asked squire and soldier alike if such a person existed. After an exhaustive search yielding very few eligible candidates, one lead brought her to a child who had joined the royal guard as a watchman. He seemed ideal. One afternoon, Emmeryn decided to use some of the few precious moments she was allowed to herself to meet this boy.

* * *

"The brat isn't anything special, Your Grace," said the captain of the guard as he led her and a pair of guards across the courtyard to the castle's southern watchtower. "He has talent with a lance, for sure, but you would find better company in a brick."

"Thank you, Captain, but I would care to meet him for myself," Emmeryn said as they stopped at one of the watchtowers. The captain's words troubled her, but she certainly did not show it. Was this boy jaded? Was he nothing but a soldier? Was this the only thing he was capable of? She would see soon enough.

"Frederick!" called the captain loudly, spooking a small horse that had been tied to a nearby post. "Her Grace, Lady Emmeryn would like a word with you. I shall take your watch while you talk."

There was a moment's pause before a set of footsteps hurried down the stairs and a very young Cavalier appeared before them. Realising that his captain was not teasing him, the small soldier took a long, cordial bow and introduced himself.

"Beg pardon, Your Grace. Had I realised you were in need of me, I would have been down sooner," he said trying to fight off some of the apprehension that was practically choking him. "Sir Frederick of Wesston, Your Grace. May I be of service to you today, milady?"

"It's very nice to meet you, Frederick," she said trying her best to contain a giggle at the boy's incredibly formal tone. "Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"Of course not, milady," Frederick replied stoically.

"How long have you served Ylisse's army?"

"Nearly four years, Your Grace. My father volunteered me for service in my sixth year and I joined the royal guard seven months ago when the war ended."

"Oh my…" she said woefully. He was already remarkably young for a sentry position in the royal guard, but apparently he was already a veteran. She tried to imagine what kind of man would put his son through a living hell like the crusades and her mind slipped for a split second. "Who was your father?"

"Were you not informed, milady? He was-"

"I'm sorry, Frederick. That is none of my business. You needn't answer that…"

"As you wish, Your Grace."

"Frederick…" she trailed off. What she wanted to ask seemed a bit forward, but curiosity compelled her and she couldn't help herself. "Why did you choose to stay? Are you here on your father's command?"

"No, milady. My father took his own life shortly after the war. I am here because I swore on my life that I would protect the realm and those who keep it."

"I see." The more Emmeryn talked to the boy, the more she began to understand that war had indeed hardened him. Though he was a child in body, his mind was that of a soldier. She realised that the captain was correct and that his stoic company would do little for her siblings. "Your dedication to the realm is inspiring. Our time together has been very valuable. Thank you, Frederick."

"Your Grace." Frederick said with a low, polite bow.

The young Exalt returned the gesture and her guards began to escort her back to the palace. As she walked she thought that perhaps she was asking too much. She had planned for Chrom and Lissa to make friends with some of the children of Ylisse's noble families, but she realised that their home in the palace had also become their prison. Suddenly, she heard a kind, quiet voice from behind her and took a brief glance over her shoulder. The boy she had just left was comforting the rattled horse with a gentle hand and a reassuring tone. Despite the boy's cold and detached personality, Emmeryn saw that he had a capacity for kindness. He could a friend. That was enough for her.

* * *

"Chrom, Lissa, I would like you to meet your new guardian. This is Sir Frederick," said Emmeryn to the two small children before her. The tiny girl in front of Frederick and Emmeryn clutched her brother's shirt giggling coyly while her brother crossed his arms, trying to keep a stern and authoritative front.

"Lord Chrom and Lady Lissa, it is an honour to meet you," Frederick said bowing to his new charges. "I vow that I shall do my best to protect and serv-"

"You're just a kid!" exclaimed Chrom pointing a finger at the young Cavalier's face. "Emm, why is our new guardian just a kid? How can he protect us if he's only a little bigger than me?"

"Brovuh, dat's mean!" piped the small girl at his side. Stepping out from behind her brother, Lissa extended her arm to shake Frederick's hand. "Nice ta meet you, Sir Fwedewick."

"…you're right, Lissa," Chrom groaned as he extended his hand as well. "I'm sorry, Frederick. Thank you for agreeing to protect us."

The Cavalier was taken aback by the surprisingly warm welcome. For years, the boy had been nothing more than a faceless soldier fighting a war he never fully understood. He had been a squire, a grunt, and was eventually brought into the chivalric order as a knight, but he was never received with more than a nod of approval or a passing mention. Shaking the small hands of his little lieges, Frederick was even more bewildered when they smiled at him: did they consider him more than just their guardian? Suddenly he remembered his mother's words and everything clicked into place; he had arrived at the path she had mentioned. Though they had only known him for mere moments, the Royal Family had treated him like a human being. If they were the future of the halidom, they were worth protecting.

"You have my word that I shall do all in my power to keep you safe. From this day forth, I shall be the shield ever at your side," Frederick said as he knelt before them, bowed his head, and held his sword out to them, signifying his fealty.

His discrete attempt to stifle a gracious smile went unnoticed by all but the Exalt herself. Not feeling the need to hold back, she smiled for him as Chrom and Lissa laughed, took Frederick by the wrists, and led him into the courtyard to show him their toys. Emmeryn was sure her siblings were in good hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Was this retribution for the crusades? Nearly eleven years had passed and, in his mind, Frederick had already failed to hold true to the vow he made when he was a boy; Emmeryn was dead. When news that the Exalt had been kidnapped following the fall of Ylisstol, Chrom enlisted the support of Basilio and Flavia, the Khans of Regna Ferox, Ylisse's neighbour to the north to take back his sister and end the tyrannical reign of Plegia's King, Gangrel. A seemingly full proof plan to rescue her had backfired when fate turned the tables on the combined armies, leading Emmeryn to fall her death to spare Chrom the painful decision between her life and the Fire Emblem. Insult was heaped upon injury by the cackles of the Mad King and the retreat back into Ferox that followed.

* * *

With King Gangrel's forces hot on their heels, the alliance was forced through a rainy labyrinth of mud and marshlands hewn between steep cliffs and tall plateaus. The place reeked of grime as the putrid ground beneath their feet was brought to life by the deluge. With visibility low and morale even lower, an ambush was certain. One by one, Plegian soldiers appeared from the veil of rain and it was apparent that they had been surrounded. Headed by a tall, imposing commander, these forces wore very different faces than their counterparts back at the capitol. Through his own grief, Frederick could see that these men did not want to fight the enemy before them; their eyes full of remorse.

"Hold there. I am General Mustafa of Plegia. We have you surrounded and escape is impossible," called the commander as he raised a hand to halt his men's advance. "Ylisseans! I offer you mercy! Surrender to me now and live."

"Surrender?" scoffed Basilio drawing his axe and preparing for the inevitable fray to come. "Sorry, that's not a word I'm familiar with."

"Emmeryn would not have wished this to come to bloodshed," Mustafa said ruefully.

"Don't speak her name!" shouted a furious Chrom as the grief festering in his gut boiled into bitter resentment.

"Your rage is justified, Prince Chrom. But the meaning of your sister's final sacrifice was not lost on me," the general said earnestly. His face and the faces of the men at his back reflected their intentions. The malice that was present in the eyes of every Plegian soldier they had fought until now was absent. "I suspect many Plegians who heard her final words would say the same. If you lay down your weapons, I vow to protect you as best I can."

A vow of protection? From the enemy, no less. This had to be a sick joke. Remembering his own similar vow, Frederick looked to his lieges: Lissa was shivering with fear and bereavement, while the look in Chrom's eyes indicated that he was out for blood. There was no peaceful resolution to this situation.

"How can we trust you after what your barbarous king has done?" the knight shouted through the rain. Even if the man before them could be trusted, Frederick doubted the Plegian's ability to keep his charges from the executioner's axe. "I think we shall take our chance with weapons in hand!"

"I suspected you would say as much," Mustafa said with a sigh as he raised his axe. "So be it, Prince Chrom. I shall endeavour to grant you a swift and dignified end."

* * *

Upon arrival at Ferox's western capitol, the Shepherds found themselves in low spirits; their mission had failed and Ylisse was now left leaderless. The corridors of Khan Basilio's fortress were flooded with injured and the dead, as the Shepherds licked their wounds and the Khans bickered in the great hall.

"Your grand escape plan was a disaster, oaf," snarled Flavia.

"How could I have known things were going to go south?" Basilio replied. "Sure, it was a little half-baked, but everyone made it out-"

"Your stupidity amazes me sometimes," groaned the Khan Regnant gesturing to weeping princess behind them.

"Emm… Oh, Emm…" whimpered Lissa as she buried her tear soaked eyes in her palms. The road back to Regna Ferox was long and bitter. The princess tried to hold a strong front for the duration of the journey, but eventually broke down when they crossed through the Feroxi outpost on the Plegian border. Between her remorse and her subsiding fear, she was exhausted.

"And you sent that bashful butterfly of a woman to see your hare-brained scheme through," said Flavia shortly. "Can she even hold a sword? She could've gotten herself killed."

"Olivia arrived just in time, you ungrateful witch," Basilio growled. "Besides, her face was a sight for sore eyes after staring at your ugly mug all day."

Flavia was at boiling point and about ready to draw her sword when another voice interrupted her.

"I should have died before allowing the Exalt to be captured." Frederick said looking down at his hands that had been washed clean of the blood that they were coated in hours earlier. Whether it was grief or duty that compelled him in the preceding battle, Frederick realised that he had become his father's son and it made him sick to his stomach. "I have failed as a knight…"

"What now, oaf?" Flavia snapped to Basilio.

"Don't look at me—I'm not in charge!"

"Ugh... I picked a fine time to regain the full throne..."

* * *

Chrom had been reclusive and almost unheard from since their arrival back from Plegia. He sat alone on the top stair of the hall, trying to not to give in to the shame and despair that consumed him. Robin saw the lord in his own personal exile and felt partially responsible that the plan they had worked on together came so close and fell short.

"Chrom, I'm... I'm so sorry. My plan just wasn't enough," the tactician said taking a seat next to him.

"You did your best, Robin ...you have my thanks," said Chrom weakly. "It's my own failures that haunt me now. Gods, I was just so powerless!"

Frederick looked up to watch the two talking. He had never seen the prince so defeated. Looking back at Lissa, he saw that the radiant exuberance she normally shone with had all but faded. He wanted to comfort them both as their sister had and see them restored to their former glories. But he did not dare; if he could not prevent Emmeryn's death, what chance did they stand in his care? The sight of them so utterly dejected nearly crushed him and there was nothing he could do about it.

"And what if I can't? What if I'm not worthy of her ideals?" asked Chrom. "Robin, what if I drag you down with me?"

"If you aren't worthy, you'll keep at it until you are," Robin replied. "And if we both fall down, well, that's what friends are for, isn't it?"

Robin had only come into their lives a few months ago, and Frederick saw that the tactician had already become the group's core as well as Chrom's trusted advisor. Robin's words of reassurance inspired the rest of the Shepherds to join in. One by one, they each pledged their devotion to the cause in a grand display of loyalty. The knight realised that the tactician meant more to his lieges than he ever could. Though he had devoted his life to them, he was only ever their servant. Chrom insisted time and time again that all Shepherds stood as equals, but this was the simple truth. Robin, however, was their friend. None of that fazed him. How could it? As long as he ensured that Chrom and Lissa remained safe and well attended to, he would be content. That was what he had to convince himself of for the good of the realm. That was what he would have to convince himself of to remain steadfast to his path. Nothing else mattered.

"You have grown strong, milord," Frederick said standing up. "I may have set a poor example as a knight... but I swear to you, I shall die before any more exalted blood is spilled!"

Chrom paused and looked saw his friends and comrades around him, all showing their support and waiting for him to speak. "Thank you all. Truly. You honour me with your fealty. I will not falter again. We shall answer this outrage! The Mad King must be stopped!"

Fealty. Though Frederick had pledged his to Chrom and Lissa years ago, he felt exalted to hear it acknowledged. They were precious to him and he would stand behind them wherever they went. He would protect them with all that he was. If it meant returning to Plegia and fighting another war, so be it. This was his path and nothing short of death could tear him from it.


End file.
